


Day 5: Lines

by ofplanet_earth



Series: 30 days of Barduil [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art School, Bard is out of practice, Digital Art, Life Drawing Class, M/M, Muses, Nude Modeling, Thorin is kind of a dick, Thranduil doesn't care, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard attends a life drawing class.<br/>requested by Anonymous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 5: Lines

**Author's Note:**

> a thank you to LoveActuallyFan for helping me not make an ass out of myself with art school specifics. AND FOR THE ART YOU CAN FIND AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS PIECE!

Bard missed his days at Uni. It was a strange thought to have at thirty- one, but there it was. He missed being covered in charcoal and paint every day, missed the smell of a fresh sketch pad, the clean lines of a fresh marker. He even missed sitting on those horrible stools, hunched over a desk or in front of an easel for hours at a time. Every once in a while, he’d get nostalgic about school. About the way his life might have turned out, had he not met Maggie. 

Not that he would change a thing now. It was just a thought, you know? If he’d been able to finish his degree, if he’d waited a while longer before settling down. He didn’t regret having children. His kids were the best things ever to happen to him. Whenever he got into one of these moods he felt the need to remind himself. 

But for the last ten years, all his focus, all his time had gone into caring for Sigrid and Bain and then Tilda, too, and it sometimes left him feeling a little hollow. 

And then, suddenly, he had too much time on his hands. Maggie had taken everything from him: his home, his kids, half his savings.

He was getting his feet back under him, though. Three months since he’d been on his own, two weeks since the papers had been signed and he was starting to feel like maybe he could figure all this out.

He signed up for a life drawing class. Just a session or two— just something to keep him occupied on Saturdays when his tiny apartment seemed to echo with sound of laughter and video games and music that wasn’t really there. Something to stop him feeling like he’d missed his shot. He hadn’t sketched or painted a thing in years, but he’d pulled one of his stained old button- ups from the pile of boxes in his living room. 

The smell of graphite and oil paint still clung to the old brown shirt and Bard thought he was starting to feel like his old self again. It was worth a shot, anyway. 

He parked his old Corolla outside the arts building, stepped out of the car and into the faint smell of cigarette smoke and it was like no time had passed at all. The same hideous orange door greeted him at the end of the path and he stood there for a moment to take it all in. 

A broad shoulder sent him falling against the railing and a voice mumbled, “Sorry,” before they disappeared. Bard sighed, watching the door fall closed behind the whip of long dark hair that had hurried inside ahead of him. Yeah. This place hadn’t changed a bit. 

Sunlight angled steeply onto the floor inside the studio, heavy and bright from the tall west- facing windows. The rest of the class had all taken a seat and the instructor stood in the centre. 

“You are late, Mister—“ 

“Bowman. I know, I’m sorry.” A man snickered softly across the studio. It was the same man who had run into him outside. He was laughing quietly at Bard as if he hadn’t rushed into the studio only a minute before.

“Take a seat then. As I was saying; this is a mixed beginners and intermediates group. I am not grading your work; you will not turn it in to me; this class is purely for your own benefit. As none of you are required to be here, I expect you to conduct yourselves with all the respect and good manners you’ve learned from your long years upon this earth.” 

Bard walked the perimeter of the studio, only to find the last remaining seat was right next to the snickering man who’d shoved past him at the door. The instructor turned pointedly to the man as she continued. “However, I will not hesitate to remove any student I deem disruptive or inappropriate. Am I understood, Mister Oakenshield?” 

“Erm,” the man coughed. “Yes Ma’am.” He looked to be the same age as Bard, but the streaks of grey in his hair belied the smirk that tugged at his mouth when he turned to the man next to him.

“Excellent,” the instructor said. “My name is Galadriel if you have any questions. Our three hours began at thirteen hundred. Please use them wisely,” 

With that, the instructor stepped to the edge of the studio and Bard pulled out his charcoal and placed his pad on the desk. Yes, he had missed this. His chest was light with a glee he hadn’t felt in years. Thoughts of his ex-wife, of their divorce, of the absence of his children— they fell away as he settled himself on the old metal stool. 

Bard’s hair was caught in a slight breeze as the model passed by him to stand in the centre of the room. He wore a simple white T-shirt and his feet were bare beneath his snug, dark jeans. His hair was all straight, loose strings of white gold and he scooped it over one shoulder with all the grace of a gazelle. 

Bard could only see his back as he moved to pull his shirt over his head, but even that was enough to make Bard stare. The model was posed with his shirt bunched at the base of his skull, stretched around his shoulders and his long arms. The sunlight caught on the ridges of his spine and threw shadows along the taut cords of muscle that stretched from his shoulders to his waistband. Oh, yes. This was the best decision Bard could have made. 

It took another snicker from Oakenshield at his expense to finally break his trance and bring his mind back into the studio. With a deep breath, Bard set his charcoal against paper and let the world fall away. He began with the curve of the spine, the deep ridge of the Trapezius and the… oh, fuck if he could remember the names of the muscles after all these years. 

He threw himself into the highlights and shadows and the curves and planes as the model breathed evenly, held his pose expertly. 

The instructor startled him from his flow, her voice close behind him. “Alright, that’s twenty. We’ll take a break and begin again in five.” She placed a gentle hand on Bard’s shoulder. “Well done, Mister Bowman.” Bard was breathless. He wondered how long he’d held his breath while he sketched— it was a bad habit he apparently hadn’t lost, even after so long with no practice. 

He continued to shade the dimples at the backs of the model’s hips and the recess at the small of his back even as the man relaxed out of his pose. Bard caught a hint of spice and black coffee over the familiar charcoal and parchment as the man passed by him. He thought he could feel a silent presence over his shoulder, but Bard only chewed his lip and deepened the shadows at the model’s waist. 

“Someone’s a little smitten, don’t you think Bilbo?” It was Oakenshield— again— who pulled Bard back to the present. He watched him turn to the man who sat on his far side with a smirk that was not returned. Bilbo did not look amused. He and Bard both rolled their eyes while Oakenshield stood to get a bottle of water from the vending machine down the hall. 

“Sorry about him,” Bilbo said. “Thorin is a nice guy, he just… well… he has some history with the model.” 

“Oh,” Bard wiped his hands against the worn fabric of his button up. “That’s alright, I’m not bothered.” 

“Are you a student here?” Bard restrained a sigh, wishing he could focus on his sketching rather than indulging this man’s need to apologize for their company. 

“I used to be, years ago.” 

“How many years are we talking?” 

“Ten or eleven,” Bard cringed. 

Bilbo’s eyes went wide. “You don’t look to be in your thirties,” 

Bard laughed. “Thanks mate.” 

“Did you study art?” 

“Aye. Illustration.”

“Thorin and I aren’t students either. Never studied art at all, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to try. Had I known Thranduil would be the model I’d have spared us all.” 

“You seem to be doing a good job of it,” Bilbo’s sketch was small, far smaller than Bard’s, but he remembered what a challenge it could be to learn to fill a page all at once. His proportion was a little off and his shading could be more subtle, but for a first attempt, Bard thought he showed promise.

“Thanks,” Bilbo blushed. He stood and stretched and Bard nearly laughed. He was barely taller standing up than he had been sitting down! But Oakenshield had pushed the studio doors open again and was coming straight toward them. He crossed through the circle of desks, not even bothering to walk around the perimeter. 

Bard sighed and turned back to his sketch pad as he made another snide comment. It was going to be a long three hours if he kept this up. 

The model crossed the room again, passing by Bard and leaving behind the same whiff of a good, strong brew. He stood in the centre of the room again and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. His shirt had been discarded over the course of the break and he stretched his arms above his head, letting his smooth hair fall down his back. 

“Another twenty minutes begins now,” Galadriel said as she began to walk the perimeter again. 

Bard started with the hard plane of the model’s defined abs where they disappeared into he shadow of his pants. He swallowed, wishing he’d thought to get a bottle of water, too. The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of shadow and shade and _ribs_ and, just as before, he continued even after the instructor called for a break. 

“You’re quite good,” Bard smelled coffee and nutmeg and he turned to find himself looking up at… the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. How had he not noticed before? _Thranduil_ , Bilbo had said his name was. He was perfect with his dark eyebrows and his angular chin and his ice blue eyes. 

“Uh. Thanks,” Bard stuttered, ever aware of the smirk that curled on the man’s lips and spread to his eyes. 

“You’ve done this before,” 

“I um—“ Bard cleared his throat, “I’m a bit out of practice.” Thranduil studied his work again. Bard studied him. His skin was like porcelain, smooth and flawless in the afternoon light. His nose was handsome, if a little asymmetrical. His eyes were startling in their intensity and his lips… Bard’s own mouth fell open as he watched those lips. 

“I would love to see you _in practice,_ ” And with that, Thranduil walked off again and Bard was left sitting on his stool like a twat. Oakenshield made some snide comment, but Bard paid him no mind. He stood, feeling just a little numb, and found his way to the vending machine. 

He downed half the bottle in one go before returning to his desk, just in time to see the model settling in for his next pose. 

Bard couldn’t help himself. He hoped the instructor didn’t come round to see his work this time, hoped even more that Oakenshield wouldn’t look over and see, because he could focus on nothing but Thranduil’s face. His expression was stern, his lips turned down in concentration. Bard spent what could have been hours on those lips. 

He didn’t even hear Galadriel call time, didn’t even notice that Thranduil had dropped his pose and come to stand by him again. He jumped when he heard the soft voice next to him. “I thought the point of these exercises was to be objective in your art.” Bard turned just in time to see a smile spread over Thranduil’s face.

“Aye,” He breathed. “I only draw what I see.” 

“Hm,” he hummed. “Well, you’ve been too kind, anyway. My nose is much bigger.” and disappeared. Bard shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. Was he—? It had been years since Bard had any sort of human interaction unrelated to his children. He couldn’t tell for sure, but… was Thranduil flirting with him? Surely not. 

The next pose found Thranduil reclining on a sheet on the floor, giving Bard a sidelong view of his long legs. His mouth went dry again, but he’d drunk all his water. He couldn’t remember ever being so affected in a life drawing class. Perhaps it truly was that he was out of practice. Maybe spending so many years with the same person had worn down his calluses, so to speak, leaving him more easily affected by such small attentions.

Thorin was snickering again to his right, and Bard looked up in time to see Galadriel walk up to them and frown. “Mister Oakenshield, is this some kind of joke to you?” He hadn’t seen the instructor come up behind him, and his face turned bright red as he spun around to face her. 

“Erm, no ma’am.” 

“Then what is it? Because you’re clearly not concerned with improving your skill.” Galadriel motioned to Thorin’s sketch pad, where he’d drawn much the same thing Bard had, only in an exaggerated caricature. “This is the last straw, Mister Oakenshield. You’ve been disruptive and rude throughout the entire class. Leave.” 

The man opened his mouth as if to protest, but a small shake of Bilbo’s head had him closing his mouth. He stood and stalked out of the room, not even bothering to pick up his sketch pad. 

“Alright then. We’ll spend the remaining hour on one last pose,” Galadriel called to the rest of the class. “No more breaks after this one, so make yourself comfortable.” Bard flipped to a new sheet of paper, trying his best not to let the charcoal left on his hands stain the corners. Bilbo sighed from beside him and did the same. “Mister Bowman, would you be so kind as to help me?” 

Galadriel asked him to help her move a small couch into the centre of the room and smiled warmly when he returned to his seat. 

Bard’s breath hitched in his throat _again_ when he saw Thranduil, bare as the day he was born, walking toward the couch. _God, that arse._

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://imgur.com/U5OWO4k)   
>    
>  [](https://imgur.com/fZg380k)   
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> [you can still submit a prompt!](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/ask)  
> I like to tag [inspiration](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/30-days-of-barduil) for the stories I write. 
> 
> my progress can be tracked on [my WriMo novel page](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/ofplanet-earth/novels/30-days-of-barduil) or [my tumblr](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/nanowrimo).


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